IN PRINCE'S GATE.
Having arranged her household matters, been informed of another pair of
boots which could not last many days longer, seen to the children's
dinner, and finally started the little group fairly off for their walk
with Anne, Charlotte ran upstairs, put on her neat though thin and worn
black silk, her best jacket and bonnet and set off to Kensington to see
Miss Harman.
She reached the grand house in Prince's Gate about twelve o'clock. The
day had indeed long begun for her, but she reflected rather bitterly
that most likely Miss Harman had but just concluded her breakfast. She
found, however, that she had much wronged this energetic young lady.
Breakfast had been over with some hours ago, and when Mrs. Home asked
for her, the footman who answered her modest summons said that Miss
Harman was out, but had left directions that if a lady called she was to
be asked to wait.
Charlotte was taken up to Miss Harman's own private sitting room, where,
after stirring the fire, and furnishing her with that morning's _Times_,
the servant left her alone.
Mrs. Home was glad of this. She drew her comfortable easy chair to the
fire, placed her feet upon the neat brass rail, closed her eyes, and
tried to fancy herself alone. Had her father lived, such comforts as
these would have been matters of everyday occurrence to her. Common as
the air she breathed would this grateful warmth be then to her thin
limbs, this delicious easy chair to her aching back. Had her father
lived, or had justice been done, in either case would soft ease have
been her portion. She started from her reclining position and looked
round the room. A parrot swung lazily on his perch in one of the
windows. Two canaries sang in a gilded cage in the other. How Harold and
Daisy would love these birds! Just over her head was a very beautifully
executed portrait in oils of a little child, most likely Miss Harman in
her infancy. Ah, yes, but baby Angus at home was more beautiful. A
portrait of him would attract more admiration than did that of the proud
daughter of all this wealth. Tears started unbidden to the poor
perplexed mother's eyes. It was hard to sit quiet with this burning pain
at her heart. Just then the door was opened and an elderly gentleman
with silver hair came in. He bowed, distantly to the stranger sitting by
his hearth, took up a book he had come to seek, and withdrew. Mrs. Home
had barely time to realize that this elderly man must really be the
brother who had supplanted her, when a sound of feet, of voices, of
pleasant laughter, drew near. The room door was again opened, and
Charlotte Harman, accompanied by two gentlemen, came in. The elder of
the two men was short and rather stout, with hair that had once been
red, but was now sandy, keen, deep-set eyes, and a shrewd, rather
pleasant face. Miss Harman addressed him as Uncle Jasper, and they
continued firing gay badinage at one another for a moment without
perceiving Mrs. Home's presence. The younger man was tall and
square-shouldered, with a rather rugged face of some power. He might
have been about thirty. He entered the room by Miss Harman's side, and
stood by her now with a certain air of proprietorship.
"Ah! Mrs. Home," said the young lady, quickly discovering her visitor
and coming forward and shaking hands with her at once, "I expected you.
I hope you have not waited long, John," turning to the young man, "will
you come back at four? Mrs. Home and I have some little matters to talk
over, and I daresay her time is precious. I shall be quite ready to go
out with you at four. Uncle Jasper, my father is in the library; will
you take him this book from me?"
Uncle Jasper, who had been peering with all his might out of his
short-sighted eyes at the visitor, now answered with a laugh, "We are
politely dismissed, eh? Hinton," and taking the arm of the younger man
they left the room.